


Friendly Fire

by JB Burge (beggar_always)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggar_always/pseuds/JB%20Burge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunt in San Antonio doesn't go as planned when the brothers realize they aren't quite used to working together again. Set between "Phantom Traveler" and "Bloody Mary."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Fire

**Author's Note:**

> (Written 2007) This is sort of a follow-up to ["Spiritual Possession"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/35160), but you definitely don't have to read it to enjoy this one. It's pretty much the same scene...written twice (once from Dean's POV...then Sam's).

\--DEAN--

Sam had been in a shitty mood since Pittsburgh. Not that he hadn't been in a shitty mood since Palo Alto, but that had been grief. This was frustration. Frustration from grief without an outlet. Hmm. Dean shook his head to clear it and focused on the road in front of him again.

Sam had been in a shitty mood since Pittsburgh. Dad's voicemail declaring him unreachable had done it, Dean was sure. Sam may have been silent and broody before, but now he was full out emo and Dean was quickly shifting from concerned and supportive to annoyed as hell.

It wasn't that Dean wasn't pissed at their dad ('cause he so was. What was he thinking, just advertising his phone number like that?) it was just that he knew it was a waste of time and energy to mope over it.

Dad could be an ass. So what? Didn't change the fact he was still their father and there was still work to do.

So to prove that, Dean had found another hunt for them. It'd been something he'd noticed from a couple of articles in a Texas newspaper he'd found in the airport while they'd been waiting to be released from questioning with the rest of the passengers. He hadn't paid the stories much attention until Day Four of Shitty Sam. He'd finally been driven out of their motel and to the local library in Small Town, Kentucky with the excuse of needing to research a lead.

Now they were on their way to San Antonio for a possible vengeful spirit haunting a strip of warehouses. Three workers had been killed in as many months. Though the accidents behind their deaths had been plausible for their work sites, Dean had jumped at an opportunity to distract Sam.

"What, Dean?" Sam asked in exasperation as he caught his brother looking at him, again. Dean immediately returned his gaze to the road outside the windshield.

"Nothing dude," Dean muttered back. The bulk of the drive had gone the same way and Dean wished he knew a way to break the cycle.

It was noon by the time they reached the outskirts of San Antonio. Too broad-daylight to head straight for the possible haunt scene. So Dean found a motel and got them a room. They found a diner, where Dean watched in annoyance as Sam picked at his food. Dean had no clue how the kid had ever grown: he'd never been much of an eater, and especially not when he was upset.

"Dude it works best in the stomach," Dean grumbled. Sam shot him a glare and Dean rolled his eyes. So, Shitty Sam was still hanging around. Wonderful.

They caught a few hours of sleep before it was dark enough to head out to the warehouses. Dean didn't have much of a plan, and Sam was still stuck in his own thoughts as they parked the Impala.

"I thought we were just checking things out tonight," Sam commented as he watched his brother pull a shotgun from the trunk.

"Yeah well, I don't go in anywhere haunted unarmed," Dean said, closing the trunk as he looked around. "I'll take the two on the left, you can take the one on the right. Meet back here in an hour." Dean meant it as an order, not a suggestion and, by the clench of Sam's jaw, his brother had noticed.

Dean turned and marched off toward his buildings before Sam could argue. He wasn't in the mood for it. He just wanted to figure out what was behind the deaths and put an end to it.

The first warehouse was a bust. The EMF meter didn't even flicker and Dean didn't feel so much as a wayward breeze. He was halfway through the second one when the meter suddenly lit up.

"What the..." Dean was halfway through saying when he was suddenly thrown back against a pallet stacked with wooden crates. "Son of a bitch," Dean grunted as he scrambled back to his feet. His back was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.

A dark mist was forming a few feet away and Dean quickly aimed his shotgun at it and fired. The mist continued toward him, undaunted, and Dean took off, firing his second shot at a run.

"Son of a BITCH!" Dean cursed as he jogged down another row of pallets. He dropped his apparently useless shotgun and pulled his handgun, wondering if iron rounds would do any better.

There was a crash to his right and Dean spun, aiming his weapon toward the intersection of two rows. A crash from behind and he flipped his pose. A mass was moving quickly toward him and he fired, pulling the gun up at the last second as he realized in horror the shadowy figure was familiar.

"Sam!" he shouted as he saw his brother drop. He ran to him, dropping to his knees as he grabbed first Sam's ankle, then his knee, wrist...Sam's left hand had gone up to clutch his right shoulder and Dean felt sick as he saw the blood spilling between his baby brother's fingers.

"Dean!" The sound of his name snapped Dean back and his eyes flew up to Sam's face. Sam was looking up at him in a mixture of pain and...concern? Was Sam really worried he would put another bullet in him? "Dude, first you SHOOT ME and now you decide not to answer me!?" Sam's voice sounded strained, but more annoyed than anything else.

Dean rocked back on his heels in bafflement as his brother pushed him away and pushed himself to his own feet, cursing and swaying a bit, but upright nonetheless. Dean had been so sure he'd killed his brother when he'd seen him drop...

"Shit!" Sam hissed, letting go of his shoulder suddenly to lean down and rip the gun from Dean's hand. Dean jumped as the weapon discharged somewhere over his shoulder. Before Dean could stand and turn to figure out what was going on, Sam grabbed him by the jacket and propelled him back toward the side door.

"Move it Dean," he growled impatiently. Dean stumbled alongside him, still trying to figure out what had happened.

Had he shot Sam or hadn't he? He was both dying and dreading to know.

As they staggered out of the warehouse, Sam's hand went back to his shoulder and he cursed again. Leaning forward slightly, he closed his eyes as if dizzy.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned in a shaky voice. He took a step to his brother but froze as Sam's eyes snapped open. The younger brother sighed and straightened. He took the time to flip the safety on the handgun and shove it into the waistband of his jeans before clutching his bleeding limb again.

"We can't do anything until we know more," Sam said tiredly. "We'll do some research and come back tomorrow." Dean continued to stare at his brother, not really even sure if Sam was really there.

The possible apparition sighed again at Dean's lack of response. "Let's just get out of here," it said softly, nudging Dean with a bony elbow as it moved past him toward the car. So, not an apparition then? It really was his younger brother?

Dean moved numbly for the Chevy and got behind the wheel, starting the engine on instinct alone.

He'd shot Sam.

His baby brother Sammy.

That information finally sank in about a mile from the motel.

The kid he was supposed to protect was having to put up extra effort to keep his blood in his body.

It'd hurt like hell when Sam had left for school and Dean could've killed him with a stupid shot he never should've fired. Hell, Sam could still decide vengeance wasn't worth being stuck with a trigger-happy brother and leave him again anyway.

Dean suddenly didn't feel so good. Sam must have noticed something was wrong (well, something in addition to the hole in his arm) because he called Dean on it.

"Dean? You gonna make it?" The Impala jerked to a stop as Dean turned horrified eyes on his brother. Sam was pale, flecks of blood on his neck and cheek where it'd splattered.

Dean was out of the car without a word and was quickly providing the muddy ditch with a fresh supply of bile. Dean heard the distant creak of the passenger door over his retching but refused to look to his brother for comfort.

"I am so driving back to the motel," a familiar voice said lightly as Dean's stomach finally stopped heaving. He shot an incredulous look over his shoulder at his brother's tone. Weren't gunshot wounds supposed to make people serious?

Sam rolled his eyes and got back into the car, this time taking Dean's seat behind the wheel. It took Dean another minute before he rose to shaky feet and climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam drove the rest of the way to the motel one-handed. Neither brother spoke until he'd parked the car and shut-off the engine. "Grab the kit," was all he said before getting out and moving to their room.

Dean knew he needed to move, but he wasn't sure he could. He'd shot his brother.

Dean had accidentally shot their father once when a head injury in a dark forest had skewed his perspective. There'd been hell to pay for that, but his father wasn't Dean's responsibility. Sammy was.

What kind of protector put a bullet in his charge?

It wasn't as if he'd never hurt his brother before. There'd been the occasional sparring injury. And once a spirit had used Dean's body to put Sam at the wrong end of a knife. But Dean hadn't been possessed when he'd pulled the trigger this time.

Dean closed his eyes as he felt nauseous again. When he reopened them he jumped, seeing his brother standing in the doorway, watching him. Sam still clutched his shoulder but Dean noticed he'd somehow gotten out of his jacket and the hoodie he'd been wearing underneath and Dean thought he could see the white of a towel against the wound.

Dean took a deep breath and slid out of the car, moving to the trunk for the first-aid kit.

Sam had moved back into the room and when Dean reached it he was already moving on to the bathroom. Dean paused long enough to slip out of his jacket before moving after his brother with their well-stocked first-aid kit.

Sam sat on the closed toilet lid, waiting on Dean. "Can you get the scissors out for me?" he asked as Dean slowly set the kit on the sink.

Dean used shaky hands to unclasp the kit and pull out the scissors. He turned to his brother and stared at the bloody towel Sam held against his shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said softly and Dean jumped a bit, finally finding his brother's face. Sam lifted his right hand with a wince. "I can get this on my own."

Sam was good at offering Dean outs. It wasn't such an obvious way of protecting his brother, but Dean had noticed every time Sam did it.

Dean knew from experience his little brother was indeed capable of patching up his own wounds, even one-handed. But he'd been the cause of this and he'd fix it.

Dean shook his head and pushed Sam's arm down gently. He took the scissors to the sleeve of his brother's shirt and cut up through the neck, gently moving Sam's hand with the towel. He cringed along with Sam at the blood soaking along Sam's collarbone.

Dean turned and set the scissors down as he grabbed a clean washcloth. He pushed the kit over slightly so he could wet the cloth and use it to wipe away some of the blood.

"Son of a bitch," Sam gritted out. Dean gritted his own teeth and focused on the wound.

The bullet had cut through the fleshy part directly above his collarbone. The angle between entrance and exit points demonstrating how Dean had pulled his aim. He grabbed another washcloth and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"How's the rest of your arm feel?" he asked quietly as the peroxide fizzled on the wound. Sam hissed and turned his head away as Dean wiped at it.

"Fine," Sam muttered. "Steady pulse in the elbow and wrist." Dean wondered when his brother had checked, but didn't ask.

Dean examined the wounds closely, wiping at the blood as it oozed out. They were both lucky: it looked as if the bullet had missed damaging anything serious. Dean couldn't even find any sign of bullet fragments.

Sam swayed slightly on the toilet and Dean put a steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder. "M'okay," Sam mumbled. Dean didn't quite believe him as he twisted to grab the suture kit.

It took eleven stitches total and Dean applied them in silence, listening closely to Sam's breathing to make sure he didn't become too distressed.

Sam turned his head to watch Dean tie off the last suture and Dean felt his eyes on him as he turned back to the first-aid kit.

The younger brother sighed as the older slathered antibiotic ointment on his shoulder. "So...you're not talking to me anymore?" Sam asked. Dean glanced at his brother, but looked away to grab a roll of sterile gauze. He set it on the edge of the sink and picked up the medical tape and scissors.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam insisted. Dean was silent for a long minute.

"Sammy I shot you," Dean finally said, voice cracking as he avoided eye contact. He focused intently on cutting the perfect length of tape to use for the bandage.

"Dude it's as much my fault as yours," Sam said softly with a sigh. Dean looked at him in confusion and Sam's mouth quirked in a small smile. "You had no clue I'd left my warehouse. I should have yelled a warning." Dean set his strips of tape on the edge of the sink for easy access as Sam went on. "You had no reason to think I'd be in there."

"I should have been sure before I fired," Dean whispered. He gently lifted Sam's arm so he could begin to wind the gauze around his shoulder.

"You pulled your shot when you knew. Otherwise I'd have a bullet in my lung right now." Dean winced and picked up a couple of tape strips.

"Way to be comforting, Sam," he muttered. Sam chuckled.

"I don't blame you for this." Dean briefly made eye contact with his brother before securing the last piece of tape.

"Yeah well, you've always been a dumbass." Sam glared at his brother hard enough Dean looked at him.

"I'm serious, Dean. It was an accident. We're just not used to working together again yet." That sure was true. They were starting to fall back into a familiar, comfortable, rhythm but they still seemed to get in each other's way more than they ever had growing up.

Dean watched as his brother tried to go on. "I can't..." Sam's mouth snapped shut and he looked away. Dean gave him a moment by putting the supplies back in the kit.

"You can't what, Sam?" he asked as he closed the kit. Sam sighed and the brothers made eye contact again.

"I need to find Dad, man. And I can't do that alone. I can't do that if you're so worried about hurting me you stay away." Dean swallowed heavily and picked up the scissors he'd left out to cut away the rest of Sam's ruined t-shirt. He couldn't help but see the scar down Sam's left arm. Sam stood and put his left hand on Dean's arm.

"I know it's pointless to say this to anyone in our fucked up family," Sam began softly. "But let it go." He pushed Dean aside gently so he could wash the blood off his hands in the sink.

Sam reopened the kit and Dean cursed himself for forgetting the painkillers and antibiotics as Sam pulled the bottles out.

"We're low," Sam commented before swallowing two of each.

"I have another bottle of each in the trunk, when we need it," Dean offered. Sam shrugged with his good shoulder and pushed past Dean to the bedroom. Dean watched him for a minute as Sam kicked off his shoes and moved to the table to open his laptop.

Dean still felt numb as he cleaned up the bathroom. The bloody t-shirt, along with the towel and washcloths, were tossed into the garbage bin, Dean pulling out the bag once it was full. They'd dump the bloody stuff on their way out of town, in some back alley dumpster, probably.

Dean wiped down the toilet, tiles and sink where blood had dripped. There was enough of it he found himself looking out toward Sam to reassure himself his brother hadn't lost all of his blood.

He added the washcloth he'd used in the bag with the others and idly thought he might have to get a second trash bag. Dean turned the faucet on hot to wash the blood from his hands and found himself unable to stop.

"Dude." Dean jumped at the deep voice behind him and turned to see his younger brother in the doorway. "Some of us have to piss." It was another out, and Dean took it, ducking past Sam and into the bedroom.

Sam's bloody hoodie was at the foot of his bed and Dean couldn't help but stare at it. The sleeve was soaked and Dean knew he'd need a second trash bag after all. It wasn't like half the kid's wardrobe didn't consist of the damned things. What did it matter that he'd just lost one?

Oh yeah. Dean had shot him. The older Winchester swallowed thickly.

"Yep. Definitely trash," Sam spoke, startling Dean again. Ever since he was a kid, Sam had had the knack for sneaking up on people. Dean hadn't even heard the bathroom door open.

Sam moved past him and bent to scoop up the damaged garment. He closed his eyes as he straightened and Dean stepped forward quickly as he saw him sway. Sam's eyes reopened before he touched him and he shot his brother a smile before tossing the hoodie in the garbage bin and stepping across the room.

"I think the jacket's salvageable, though." Sam disappeared back into the bathroom, carrying his jacket. Dean stared at him when he came back out a minute later. "What?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head to clear it and sank down on the end of his bed. He scrubbed at his face with both hands. His brother sighed and Dean heard the creak of springs from the other bed.

Dean dropped his hands and looked at Sam. "I just wanted to distract you," he whispered, surprised he admitted it out loud. Even more surprised when Sam nodded slightly.

"I know," said Sam.

"You know?" Dean was confused. Sam smirked a bit and let his eyes sweep the room before falling on his big brother again. Dean recognized it as his way to kill time while he figured out how to say what he wanted.

"Practically my whole childhood was you trying to distract me, Dean. Used to be a coloring book and a handful of broken crayons. Now it's haunted warehouses. Same difference."

Dean considered the validity of the statement. He supposed he did find distraction as his best plan of action when it came to Sam. His lips quirked into a semi-smile and he was rewarded with a rare grin from Sam.

"How long have you been on to my battle tactic?" Dean asked out of curiosity. Sam shrugged more with his face than his shoulder.

"Since I was six? Dude, you can be pretty obvious sometimes."

"Man whatever," Dean said as he stood. He paused and looked at Sam seriously again. "You know I'm sorry, right?" Even though he'd asked it, Dean wasn't quite sure if he only meant for the bullet wound.

Sam gave his brother a sincere smile, one that eased the tension in Dean's chest just as much as his spoken "Yeah Dean." Sam's smile broadened. "But I so call a rain check."

"A rain check to shoot me!?" Dean asked, incredulous. Sam nodded with another grin. Dean frowned and Sam forced his face into seriousness, holding out a palm in a pose of mock innocence.

"What?" he asked in the perfect, little-brother-is-up-to-no-good, tone. "Ya never know when something like that might come in handy..." Dean rolled his eyes and moved to his own duffle bag.

"When you use up that rain check, there'd better be a goddamn good reason for it," he grumbled.

Sam laughed softly as Dean pulled out a change of clothes and moved for the bathroom. When he reached the door, he paused and looked over his shoulder at Sam. Sam made eye contact with him and gave him a reassuring smile.

Dean was tempted to tell Sam a lot of things. How scared he was of hurting him again. How much he worried about Sam's nightmares. How he didn't know if they'd ever find Dad. Hell, even just tell the kid how much he'd missed him.

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was "Order a pizza. No olives. You know I hate that shit."

He went into the bathroom with a smile on his face knowing, without a doubt, there'd be extra olives waiting for him when he got out.

\--SAM--

To say he'd been expecting a bullet to slam into him would be a total lie. But he had been expecting something from Dean; just more in the form of a right hook...

He'd been treating Dean unfairly all week and he knew it.

It wasn't Dean's fault their father was being an asshole, keeping his sons far away from him. Dean certainly hadn't been happy with that voicemail either. (Sam had heard the angry message Dean had left when he thought Sam had gone into the gas station for snacks)

But Dean had refused to talk about it, insisting their dad knew what he was doing. Dean had always insisted their father knew what he was doing. Even when all the evidence indicated he had no clue.

Dean more or less ordering him about which warehouse to search had him fuming to the point he was happy just to have the space to himself. But when he'd heard the gunshot coming from his brother's direction, all anger had vanished. Already at the exit of his warehouse, Sam had sprinted for his brother's.

And now he was laid out on an unforgiving floor, a fire in his shoulder threatening to knock the whole thing off.

Sam grasped his bleeding shoulder and took several steadying breaths. Nothing happened immediately and, for a brief second, Sam worried Dean hadn't been the one to shoot him at all and he was now going to be at the mercy of some trigger-happy security guard. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been injured for trespassing.

Then he felt a hand land on his ankle and a second later his brother's face appeared above him. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a second, trusting Dean to fix things.

"Man I can't believe I'm relieved you shot me," he muttered with a weak laugh. When Dean didn't respond, Sam opened his eyes in confusion. "Dean?" His older brother was staring at his injured shoulder, looking pale and more than slightly nauseous. "You gonna puke on me?" Sam got worried when that didn't garner a response either. Sam's expression softened a little in concern as he remembered his brother had shot him. It was up to Sam to snap Dean out of it if he wanted to get back to the motel room and the promise of painkillers and a semi-cozy bed.

"Dean!" he said louder, finally jolting his brother to make eye contact. Dean's eyes were wide and Sam was startled to see the fear there. Twenty-plus years of experience had taught him that Dean Winchester never scared easy.

That same experience had taught him he was one of only two people capable of talking his brother down from that fear.

Sam knew he had three routes he could go. He could play up his injury and make it sound worse than it was (as he was fairly certain it was just a flesh wound). The act would prompt Dean to obsess over Sam's injury, forgetting his own fear in favor of monitoring his injured brother's every move. That'd get old fast.

Sam could act pissed and threaten Dean with another fear: him leaving. He knew Dean would stumble all over himself for redemption. But Dean really didn't deserve that kind of torture and Sam had already forbidden himself from using that weakness of Dean's against him.

Or Sam could act annoyed and make the whole thing seem like a bad prank, making Dean think it was no worse than the time he'd put Nair in Sam's shampoo. It would confuse Dean enough to give Sam time to prove he was alright.

"Dude, first you SHOOT ME and now you decide not to answer me!?" Sam jabbed, opting for a tone of annoyance.

A confused Dean was easier to deal with than a guilty one, anyway.

Sam waited for Dean's brow to furrow in confusion before he pushed Dean away with his left arm and clambered to his feet. "Son of a bitch," he muttered at the effort it took not to fall over again. If Dean hadn't been watching him so closely, he probably would have.

Sam lifted his gaze to look for the nearest exit and cursed, seeing the shift in the darkness that signaled the approaching spirit. Adrenaline spiking, Sam grabbed Dean's gun and fired over his shoulder. The mass dispersed and Sam grabbed his brother by the scruff of his jacket, pulling him to his feet and toward the nearest door.

"Move it Dean," he encourage impatiently, trying to ignore the way Dean stumbled beside him. He was having enough trouble keeping himself upright.

The night air hit Sam hard and he cursed under his breath, putting his hand back to his injured shoulder. He closed his eyes as the world tilted in a way it wasn't meant to tilt without massive amounts of alcohol being involved.

"Sammy?" Sam heard his brother say tentatively. He opened his eyes, ready to snap out It's Sam, but he caught himself when he saw Dean standing a few feet away, looking unsure what to do with himself. And Dean not knowing what to do? Well, that was a fear of Sam's.

Sam sighed and straightened as he shoved Dean's handgun into the waistband of his jeans. He winced as he reapplied pressure to his shoulder wound. It hurt like a bitch, but he was relieved to notice the blood flow was already slowing. With a last glance at the warehouse, he turned back to his older brother. The staring was really beginning to unnerve Sam and he repressed a shiver under his brother's gaze.

Somehow he managed to get Dean to leave the warehouses for the waiting Impala. Sam would never admit it to his brother, but the mere sight of that car could calm him.

Sam slid as low in the seat as his annoyingly long legs would allow, trying to comfortably rest his head on the back of the seat as Dean got behind the wheel. He wondered when the headache had started and if it was really necessary for it to be throbbing in time with his shoulder. Sighing as Dean pulled the car onto the highway, Sam slid his hand down his injured arm, relieved to find a steady pulse in his elbow and wrist. From what he could tell, there wasn't any arterial or other serious damage. Didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

Sam hadn't missed this at all: leaving a hunt injured. He'd always been a bit accident prone and he knew one of those forensic black lights would turn up more splatters of his blood on the upholstery of the Chevy than he was even capable of remembering. Worse, though, were the memories of putting pressure on the wounds of father or his brother. How pale Dean's face could get when his blood turned tail and ran...

He looked to his brother quickly, needing some sort of assurance that Dean was okay next to him. He flinched when he noticed how pale Dean actually was and found himself visually scanning his older brother for physical wounds before he remembered why Dean was hurting.

Sam sighed and pushed himself up a bit in his seat. "Dean? You gonna make it?" he asked softly, meaning it in levity. He threw out a hand to the dash as the car came to a sudden stop, cursing under his breath as his his shoulder tensed up along with the rest of his body. He looked to his brother, ready to yell at him as Dean put the car in park. But Sam stopped as he saw the horror in his brother's eyes. Shit. Dean really wasn't handling this well.

Dean was out of the car before Sam could fully process that and the younger brother's chest tightened as he heard his brother forcibly expel his lunch from his body.

Fucked up, was the best way Sam could think of to describe the situation. He was bleeding from a bullet wound courtesy of a brother who was too busy puking his guts out on the side of a deserted Texas highway to get his bleeding brother to their motel and first-aid. It was enough to make any guy think in run-on sentences. And to let the little brother know he needed to step up; take more control than his big brother would normally allow.

Sam cringed as he eased out of the vehicle. Partially from pain and partially from the sound of retching. He'd never been fond of the sound of sick, but who was?

He waited a long minute until he was sure Dean was only dry-heaving before he spoke. He'd thought about offering comfort, but knew Dean would never accept it, and tried a second attempt at levity instead.

"I am so driving back to the motel." Sam recognized the look of disbelief Dean shot in his direction. Sam rolled his eyes, wishing Dean wasn't so damn picky with his sense of humor sometimes, and turned back to the car. He felt Dean's eyes on him as he slid behind the wheel. Sam sighed and waited on his brother to join him.

College had taught Sam how to take the lead and look after others in a way an over-protective father and brother hadn't quite managed. They'd given him the basic principles, but had never really given him the opportunity to put them into action. Now it looked like Dean was going to give him the chance to show what he'd learned.

Sam watched Dean move shakily back to the car and took a deep breath just before Dean opened the passenger door. As he put the car back into drive, he thought about the best way to get his brother back. Dean seemed to thrive when he had someone to take care of, a fact that had bothered Sam for years. So, while Sam knew he could patch up his shoulder on his own, he also knew it might be more important to get Dean to do it for him, to fix what he'd damaged in a literal way.

The rest of the drive to the motel went fast and Sam felt like sighing with relief as he shut the engine off. Instead he took a deep breath and told Dean to grab the first-aid kit before he got out and headed for their room.

Sam groaned as he eased out of his jacket, tossing it over the nearest chair. "Goddamn," he hissed under his breath as he yanked his hoodie off. He tossed it in the general direction of his bed on his way into the bathroom.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, Sam pressed it against his wound and leaned his hip against the sink for a minute, closing his eyes as he tried to get his bearings. He really just wanted to sleep, but he still had a brother to fix. How had Dean managed to do this on a consistent basis?

With a sigh, Sam pushed away from the sink and shuffled toward the still open motel door. He wasn't exactly surprised to see Dean still seated in the car, eyes closed.

Sam almost smiled when Dean opened his eyes and jumped in his seat, apparently surprised to see Sam in the doorway. Sam waited until Dean got out of the car and finally moved toward the trunk before he went back to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, he closed the lid of the toilet and took a seat.

It was another long minute before Dean appeared in the bathroom, moving slowly and avoiding looking directly at Sam. It was hard not to notice the way Dean's hands shook as he set the kit on the sink. Sam would have felt more sympathy for him if his shoulder hadn't been throbbing.

"Can you get the scissors out for me?" he asked in a gentle tone. Dean was slow at unclasping the first-aid box and pulling out the kit's scissors. When Dean's line of sight shifted to where Sam's hand held the towel, Sam realized his brother was stuck and sighed.

"Dean." Sam leaned back a bit as his brother jumped. But at least Dean was looking at him again and not just the shoulder.

Sam winced to hold out his right hand. "I can get this on my own," he said softly. Sam knew Dean well enough to know he'd do anything to fix his own mistakes. If there was any hope of Dean getting over shooting him, Dean needed to patch him up. But if Sam wanted that to happen, he'd have to push Dean into making that decision.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, considering the offer, before he shook his head. He pushed Sam's arm away to cut up the sleeve of Sam's t-shirt. Sam gritted his teeth as Dean moved the towel away and they both cringed at the sight of the wound. Sam never understood why his wounds always hurt more once he actually looked at them.

"Son of a bitch," Sam growled as Dean began to wipe the blood away with a wet washcloth. He noticed Dean's jaw clench and made a note to himself to suck it up. Five seconds later he hissed and looked away as his older brother poured peroxide on the wound.

"How's the rest of your arm feel?" Dean asked quietly. Sam nearly sighed in relief at the sound of Dean finally speaking.

"Fine. Steady pulse in the elbow and wrist," Sam assured his brother. His relief was short lived when he realized Dean wasn't going to respond.

Dean was silent as he examined the wound. Sam didn't even notice he'd swayed in his seat until he felt Dean rest a supportive hand on his uninjured shoulder. "I'm okay," he said, trying to make eye contact wit his brother. Dean avoided his gaze and turned for the suture kit.

Sam bore the stitches in just as much silence as his brother, more to keep Dean from worry than from lack of discomfort. The wound was already sensitive and having a needle pull pieces of skin back together was far from a pleasant experience. But Sam knew Dean was as good as any ER intern and was trying to keep the pain at a minimum. Still, it didn't mean he wanted to watch the needle going in and out and in again.

Sam turned his head back to the wound in time to watch Dean tie off the last stitch. He watched his brother closely as Dean set down the needle and wire and grabbed the tube of antibiotic ointment. Dean's touch was gentle as he applied the ointment to the shoulder and Sam sighed, just wanting to break the annoying silence.

"So...you're not talking to me anymore?" he asked. He got Dean to glance at him a moment, but then they older Winchester reached for the gauze. Sam knew he was talented at using the silent treatment, but Dean could be a fucking master.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean was busy with the medical tape. "Dean, I'm fine," he insisted, hoping his argument would be more effective now that most of his blood had been wiped away.

Dean was silent for another long minute, so Sam was surprised when he finally spoke.

"Sammy I shot you." Sam's expression softened as he heard the crack in his brother's voice. It wasn't very often that Dean let emotion slip through.

"Dude it's as much my fault as yours," Sam said with another sigh. Sam had to smile slightly as his older brother finally looked at him in confusion.

"You had no clue I'd left my warehouse," Sam continued as Dean set up strips of tape. "I should have yelled a warning. You had no reason to think I'd be in there."

"I should have been sure before I fired," Dean said quietly, still trying to justify his guilt. Sam only winced a bit as he let him lift his arm to apply the gauze.

"You pulled your shot when you knew." Sam knew how deadly accurate Dean's aim was, even in the dark. "Otherwise I'd have a bullet in my lung right now." Sam winced again as Dean did, realizing how that was the opposite of reassuring.

"Way to be comforting, Sam," Dean spoke Sam's thought aloud and Sam had to laugh a bit. It was a good sign, though, that Dean had replied at all.

"I don't blame you for this," Sam said sincerely. He earned a brief moment of eye contact with his brother.

"Yeah well, you've always been a dumbass." Sam was glad for the jab, but he wanted to get his point across.

"I'm serious, Dean," he said when he got his brother to look at him again. His head was hurting more as his shoulder eased a bit and that was enough to push his thoughts back to what had been bothering him before the warehouses.

"We're just not used to working together again yet," Sam went on. "I can't..." he stopped talking and looked away. He didn't know how to tell his brother the familiarity of his presence was the only thing that kept him going somedays. Dean had always been there. Would always be there. And Sam relied on that consistency more than he cared to admit.

"You can't what, Sam?" Dean prodded as he closed the first-aid box. With a sigh, Sam met his eyes again. He wanted to say he wouldn't make it without Dean's help, but he couldn't be so personal with it.

"I need to find Dad, man. And I can't do that alone." Maybe Dean would accept if it it wasn't entirely about him. "I can't do that if you're so worried about hurting me you stay away," he added, in hopes of telling Dean he wasn't worried about getting hurt again himself.

Dean didn't respond and instead went about cutting away the rest of the ruined t-shirt. Sam was grateful; he hadn't been looking forward to trying to pull it over his head.

Dean was staring and Sam followed his gaze to an old scar, one Sam forgot about most of the time. It wasn't even his nastiest scar. He stood, putting a hand on Dean's arm to keep from swaying at the change in altitude.

Sam spoke softly to his brother before pushing him away. "I know it's pointless to say this to anyone in our fucked up family, but let it go." Sam washed his hands in the sink as he considered their entire history had been built on not letting things go. Good thing a lot of it was also built on hypocrisy.

Sam opened the kit to dig for the bottles of prescription painkillers and antibiotics he knew would be there. In the Winchester family they were as vital a part of the first-aid kit as Aspirin to a "normal" family's. He frowned as he noticed the fill dates on the bottles and their relative emptiness.

"We're low," he commented as he took two of each. He wouldn't even try to ask Dean why, knowing the older brother would make up some lame story in place of the truth.

"I have another bottle of each in the trunk, when we need it," Dean said. Sam merely shrugged and moved past Dean to the table where his laptop sat.

Sam half-heartedly scanned the internet for information on the warehouses as he waited on the painkillers to kick in, sounds of Dean cleaning up the bathroom in the background. He didn't think much of the faucet turning on until it'd been running for a couple minutes.

Sam looked toward the open bathroom door in concern and saw his brother hunched over the sink. Dean's body was tense and, looking closely, Sam could see a slight tremble in his shoulders. Sam stood with sigh, noticing the painkillers were kicking in surprisingly fast, and moved to the bathroom doorway.

"Dude." Sam would have laughed at the way Dean jumped and twisted to look at him if the circumstances had been different. Time to offer Dean an escape from the situation. "Some of us have to piss." It was cruder than Sam normally went, but it got Dean to stop washing his hands raw.

Sam took care of business and stepped out of the bathroom. He paused as he noticed Dean staring at the bloody hoodie on the floor. Sam cursed himself under his breath for not picking it up sooner.

"Yep. Definitely trash," he spoke up, causing Dean to jump again as he moved past him. Scooping the hoodie from the floor made him dizzy, and Sam closed his eyes as he straightened. Yep, the painkillers were definitely kicking in.

Dean had moved closer to him when he reopened his eyes and Sam shot him an encouraging smile as he tossed the garment to the garbage bin and moved to the chair he'd thrown his jacket over.

Grabbing the jacket, Sam moved back toward the bathroom. "I think the jacket's salvageable though." He filled the sink with cold water and stuck the bloody sleeve in it, hoping to keep the blood from staining.

Dean was staring at him when he came out of the bathroom again and Sam suddenly felt uncomfortable. "What?" Sam watched Dean shake his head as he sat on the end of his bed, hands going up to rub his face. Sam sighed and sat sorely on his own bed.

It was a long minute before Dean looked at his brother again. "I just wanted to distract you," he whispered apologetically. Sam had already figured as much, so he nodded.

"I know." Confusion took over Dean's expression.

"You know?" Sam gave him a small smile as he looked around the room, trying to figure out how to tell Dean how much he was aware of all his big brother had done for him. He took a deep breath and let his eyes fall on Dean again.

"Practically my whole childhood was you trying to distract me, Dean. Used to be a coloring book and a handful of broken crayons. Now it's haunted warehouses. Same difference." Sam watched Dean think about it and grinned when the older man gave him a small smile.

"How long have you been on to my battle tactic?" Dean asked. Sam frowned in thought.

"Since I was six? Dude, you can be pretty obvious sometimes." Sam said it though he knew it wasn't completely true. He knew his big brother well, but most people, even their father, had no clue.

"Man whatever," Dean said, standing. He met Sam's eyes seriously and Sam straightened a bit in anticipation. "You know I'm sorry, right?" It was rare for Dean to apologize, even for the serious stuff. Sam gave him an understanding smile.

"Yeah Dean," he promised his brother. He grinned as he watched his brother visibly relax a bit. "But I so call a rain check."

The look on Dean's face was priceless as he said, "A rain check to shoot me!?" Sam grinned and waited for a small glare from Dean before he turned serious again and held out his uninjured arm.

"What? Ya never know when something like that might come in handy..." Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smiled to himself.

"When you use up that rain check, there'd better be a goddamn good reason for it," Dean mumbled as he went to his duffle bag.

Sam laughed, glad to have his brother back. They'd been apart too long and Sam knew he couldn't afford to lose him again, especially not over some stupid guilt trip of Dean's.

Dean walked past him to the bathroom and paused, looking over his shoulder. Sam smiled a bit, just trying not to sway and make Dean worry again. But, damn, the pills were working.

"Order a pizza," Dean said unexpectedly. "No olives You know I hate that shit."

Sam smiled as he heard the bathroom door click shut. Reaching for the phone book, the smile spread into a grin. He was so ordering olives.

He just hoped he didn't pass out before he got the chance to see the look on Dean's face.

/end


End file.
